


Mrs Herbert Remembers

by mrsredboots



Category: The Marlows - Antonia Forest
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsredboots/pseuds/mrsredboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As she decides whether to work for a new employer, Edie Herbert looks back over her life so far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mrs Herbert Remembers

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Lilliburlero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilliburlero/pseuds/Lilliburlero) in the [Antonia_Forest_Fanworks_2015](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Antonia_Forest_Fanworks_2015) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> I'd love fic about one or more of Trennels' employees. Their views of the Marlows, their daily lives, friendships and relationships within Westbridge, their take on canonical events. I'd love to read a story in which Doris decides she wants a career in the fashion industry after all.
> 
> Author's reply: I do hope this is the kind of thing you had in mind. For my timeline, I've taken "Falconer's Lure" which is set in 1948.

“So would you like to stay on and cook for us?”

The question was, thought Edie Herbert, whether or not Mrs Marlow really wanted her to stay as cook, or whether she wanted to bring in her own people from London. She was certainly not going to let anybody else rule her kitchen; she had come too far for that.

She had been born Edith Jenkins at the turn of the century, in the first days of 1900, to a farm labourer and his wife in Kingstone Crewe, a small village about five miles outside Streweminster. Edie, as she was always known, was the seventh child, and second surviving daughter. For the first eight years of her life, she grew up in a two-room cottage, in abject poverty. Farm labourers were not paid well, and the Jenkinses were hard put to find food for their children. Meals relied heavily on the vegetables that John Jenkins was able to grow in the cottage garden, with a large flour dumpling, called a roly-poly, that had to be eaten before any other food would be served. Weak tea was the usual drink, although John Jenkins had an appetite for beer, which the village pub sold at 2d a pint.

The children all went to school in the village, starting at five and leaving at twelve. In theory, they could take an examination to go on to secondary school, but in practice this never happened – the families were too poor, and needed their children to go out to work. The girls, especially, were encouraged to “get their feet under someone else's table”, and Edie knew, almost before she knew anything, that when she was twelve, she would be expected to put her hair up and go into service, probably at the Castle where her elder sister, Sarah, was already working.

But when she was eight years old, everything changed. First, her father, busy thatching a haystack, slipped and fell, breaking his neck and dying instantly. And two days later her mother died in childbirth and the baby – another boy – died with her. There was nothing for it, said the Vicar, when he came to call on the family, but the orphanage for the four younger children. Sarah, Bert and Jim were already out earning their livings, but Joe, Edie, William and Jessie would have to go to the big orphanage that the Waifs and Strays Society had recently built on the outskirts of Streweminster, about three miles from Kingston Crewe, as an alternative to the workhouse for children left with no parents. Joe and William were sent to the boys' home, and Edie and Jessie to the girls'; they were allowed to see each other for a few minutes after Church on Sundays, and if Sarah or one of the boys came to take them out on Sunday afternoons, but other than that, they were strictly segregated.

In some ways, the orphanage was an improvement on life at home. There was always enough food, and the children had warm clothing and a bed each. Jessie, who was not quite five, was in the nursery section and soon settled down, but Edie, at eight, was very homesick at first. Matron and the other staff were not cruel, but there were really too few of them to cope with individual children's needs, and some of the older girls were inclined to bully.

The best bit, so far as Edie was concerned, was school. The orphanage ran its own schools, to train the girls for domestic service and the boys for various trades. However, the schooling was more rigorous than the rather desultory education provided by the village school, and she discovered that she enjoyed learning, and that reading was a pleasure. This would stand her in good stead her whole life.

However, the Homes were unable to keep the children much past their twelfth birthdays, and Joe, at twelve, decided to take up the offer of a new life in Canada, where, he had been told, he would have more opportunity to better himself. Edie missed him, but no more than she missed the other older members of her family. Bert and Jim were working too far away to come and visit the younger ones very often, although Sarah came nearly every week.

When Edie was eleven, she was surprised to be asked by her teacher if she wanted to sit the scholarship exam. “I don't think there is much chance you'll be able to take it up,” explained the teacher, “but if you took it and passed, you would know that you were able for secondary education, no matter what.” Edie, flattered, took the exam, and was offered a scholarship, but as the scholarship only covered school fees and a certain amount towards uniform, making no provision for board and lodging, she was not able to take it up. She was disappointed, but resigned.

What she had really expected was to follow Sarah's footsteps and work as a junior maid at the Castle, in whatever capacity there was a vacancy. Sarah herself had progressed from scullery-maid up to head kitchenmaid, and would, she said, be ready to apply for a post as a cook in another year. “Although that's not going to happen, because I'm going to leave and marry Tom Bowles!” she announced proudly, showing off a brand-new ring.

“Oh Sal, how lovely!” exclaimed Edie. “Where are you going to live?” She liked Tom, whom she had met a couple of times when Sarah had taken the sisters out to tea.

“In the village – Tom could have had a cottage any time these past five years, being under-gardener, and all, but of course he didn't need one, not being married. So he's put in for one, and as soon as one becomes available, we'll be wed. Might not be for a year or so, but I'll stay on at the Castle, rather than try to better myself. I do all the cooking for the staff as it is.”

But Sarah had bad news for Edie. “I'm really, really sorry, but they won't take you on at the Castle, because you come from the orphanage, and Mrs Guthrie, the housekeeper, says there is a policy of not taking on orphan girls. I argued that she knew where you'd come from, being as you're my sister, but she wasn't having it. She just said 'We don't recruit our staff from the orphanage!'”

“Well, if it's Lady Merivale's policy she must be a right hypocrite, then, being as she's Chair of Governors here. Can't you ask her?”

“Me? Good Lord, no – I've never spoken to her in my life. Doubt she even knows I exist.”

“What, never? Not once? That's really sad! I've said 'Good morning!' and 'Good afternoon' to her, but nothing else. Maybe if I do get the chance, I'll ask her myself.”

But that chance was not to arise for awhile, for the next week Edie was summoned to Matron's office and told that she was to go to train as a general servant in the home of a Miss Simon, who had, she was told, been good enough to offer a place to an orphan girl.

Jane Simon had recently come to live in Kingston Crewe in one of the larger houses. She was unmarried, and her father had died, leaving her with what she would describe as “a competence”. She was not rich, but provided she lived quietly, she could manage. She might have made her home with her brother and his family, but she was an ardent suffragist, and had even gone so far as to go on marches with Mrs Pankhurst and her daughters, although she declined to break the law. Her brother was very conservative, both by nature and in politics, and the two did not get on, so Miss Simon took the house, and prepared to settle down to life as a single woman.

To take an untrained girl from the orphanage had been her own choice; she could have, in fact, afforded a trained general servant, but thought that training a young girl would be helpful to the girl, and also something to do. As it turned out, it was an ideal first post for Edie. The two took to each other immediately. Jane noticed how Edie's eyes lit up at the sight of her books, and promptly gave her permission to borrow any of them, as long as she was careful not to get crumbs or grease on them.

“Now, before we get distracted by Dickens or ambushed by Austen, let's get down to practicalities. I've very little more idea how to run a house than you have, so what have you learnt? I know they've given you some training at school.”

“I can cook a bit, and I know how to clean, but I haven't ever done it for real,” explained Edie.

“Well, you won't need to do the rough; Mrs Simkiss is going to come in three mornings a week to do all that. But you'll have to do the daily dusting, make sure my fire is kept lit, in the winter, make our beds and tidy up – and I warn you, I'm _very_ untidy on occasion! We had better talk about each day's meals in the mornings after breakfast, and then you'll know what to order.”

Gradually, Edie settled down. At first she was lonely after the bustle of the orphanage, but she still had one or two friends in the village from her childhood days, and it was lovely to be able to go and see Jessie and William, still in the orphanage, on a Sunday afternoon, and sometimes take them out to tea. Her cooking improved, and when she learnt of the existence of such things as cookery books, she begged to be allowed to borrow some from the circulating library. Permission was readily given, and Jane would sometimes buy one from the bookshop in Streweminster or Colebridge, on one of her occasional trips there.

After two years, Edie was nearly ready to move on, but she was reluctant to leave such a kind employer and such a relatively easy post. Moreover, Jessie would be leaving school at Christmas, and Edie was hoping that Jane would take her on to train her up. But this was the summer of 1914, and the world was sliding inexorably into war.

“We'll be home by Christmas!” said the men, cheerfully, as they marched off, formed into “Pals' battalions” of men from the same town, village, factory, estate or mine. Tom Bowles went off with other men whom the Castle thought they could spare, and other men from the farms and factories in the area.

“We women will be wanted soon,” said Jane Simon to Edie. “Don't do anything yet – and yes, I'll take Jessie at Christmas if I'm still here. But Lady Merivale is talking of setting up a hospital for wounded or convalescent soldiers in the Castle, and I will see if there is a place for us there.”

“There won't be for me,” said Edie. “Lady Merivale doesn't take girls from the orphanage, or I'd have gone to the Castle. Meaning no disrespect,” she added hastily.

“Doesn't she?” asked Jane. “You surprise me, as I know she's Chair of the Board; you would think she'd be one of the biggest employers of the children.”

“No; I couldn't get a job there. Even though my sister Sarah works there. I don't suppose I'd be let within the hallowed walls even if it is turned into a hospital. Anyway, will the hospital be needed if it's all to be over by Christmas?”

“I wish you were right, but I'm afraid we're in it for the duration. But just you leave it with me!” said Jane, and went off to the Castle, where she was on the committee organising the hospital.

Next day, Edie was astonished that Jane received a call from no less a person than Lady Merivale herself, and even more astonished to be summoned to the parlour, not to be told to bring tea, but to speak to Her Ladyship.

“I'm told I owe you an apology,” said her Ladyship. Edie was too surprised to speak. “Jane here tells me that you were refused a job with us because you were in the orphanage. I want you to know that this wasn't my policy; it was that of my housekeeper, Mrs Guthrie. I'm sorry to say that I didn't take the interest I should have done in my junior staff, I left them to Mrs Guthrie, and didn't realise her policies weren't what I would have wished. And now, of course, you have had an excellent general training, and probably wouldn't be happy in a big servants' hall where everybody has a very firmly-defined role.”

Edie had to think about this. Her Ladyship was right, she realised. She had trained to be a big fish in a small pond, and wouldn't really like to have her role defined and circumscribed. On the other hand, she'd been very lucky. Miss Simon had been learning how to train a servant, just as she'd been learning how to be one. And they had got on very well together, and shared a love of books, and she had learnt a great deal about women's rights and lack of them.

“Thank you, your Ladyship” was all she found to say. But later, when she was getting Lady Merivale's coat, she plucked up her courage to ask if there would be some kind of place for her at the proposed hospital. “My sister is going to be ready to take my place here,” she explained, “and I probably ought to do something to help this war. I know I could go to a munitions factory, but I don't really want to unless there's no alternative.”

“I expect we can find something. You're too young to train as a VAD, of course, but we'll need people to help clean and cook for the patients. At that, we'll need people to help in the gardens and grounds, since so many of the men have gone off to war.”

In the end, Edie found herself working as a ward-maid; her duties included cleaning and cooking for the patients, which meant learning invalid cookery, something she did very successfully. She enjoyed her work, although sometimes the nurses were, she felt, overly fussy. But the nicer nurses explained the reasons behind their fussiness, and told her why things were done the way they were. This, Edie understood. She felt she had found her niche, and decided to train as a nurse as soon as she was old enough.

But life has a way of intervening into the best plans, and one day in the spring of 1916, shortly after her 16th birthday, Edie had gone into the garden for a break, when a male voice said, “Enjoying the sunshine, are we?”

Bob Herbert's background was very similar to Edie's own. Like her, he had grown up in abject poverty in a tied cottage, this time in the village of Westbridge, the other side of Colebridge from Kingston Crewe. He had also taken the scholarship exam, and had been allowed to take it up, so he had spent three years at Colebridge Grammar School; however, his parents had not been able to let him stay on at school past his 14th birthday, so he had left and started work as a trainee gamekeeper at Meriot Chase, the big estate there. Although he enjoyed country life, and the work, what he was fascinated by was the internal combustion engine, and as soon as he was 17, he applied for, and was granted, a licence, and soon had a job driving lorry-loads of convalescent soldiers from the hospitals where they had been treated to the convalescent homes that were now dotting the countryside. He had come to Kingston Castle to pick up the latest batch of convalescents, and had wandered into the grounds while he waited for them to be ready.

He and Edie took to each other at once. Bob came over to collect patients at least once a week, and took to arriving a little early so that they could spend a little while together, if Edie could take a break then. When he learnt that Edie had never been in a motor vehicle, he took it upon himself to rectify this, and on her evenings off he would drive over in his lorry and take her round the local area. He didn't dare go very far, because he had to account for the petrol used, but they also discovered they could travel by train from Streweminster or Colebridge stations, and, when their days off coincided, they visited places like Wade Abbas and Yetland Cove.

Bob planned to join the Army as soon as he was 18, and to become an Army driver. “I wish you wouldn't,” said Edie, sombrely. One of her brothers, Bert, had been killed, as had Sarah's fiancé, Tom Bowles, and Jim had lost a leg.

“I don't think I'll have much choice,” said Bob. “They're bringing in conscription, I gather, and if I volunteer I've got far more chance of being a driver or a despatch-rider than having to actually fight in the trenches. Don't fret, Edie, I'll be all right, just you wait and see.”

Shortly before Bob's 18th birthday, Edie realised that they had been careless and that she was carrying Bob's child. She worried about telling him, in case he panicked and ran, leaving her helpless. But he rose to the occasion. “I hadn't planned to marry yet awhile,” he said, honestly. “After all, I'm not even 18 for another month. But we'll get married – I reckon I'd have married you sooner or later; it's just a little sooner than we'd planned, that's all!”

So they were married. Edie had to leave her job at the hospital, as married women were not expected to work, even in war time. They had nowhere to live, so, for the duration, she moved in with Bob's parents. After several years of her own room, she found the crowded cottage rather claustrophobic, but it was there or nowhere. And Bob's parents, Jem and Betty, were lovely people. If they were disconcerted by their son's producing a wife at the age of 17, they said nothing, but welcomed Edie into their family with every evidence of pleasure.

The next month, Bob turned 18 and was at once conscripted into the Army. The volunteer scheme had been abandoned, and all men aged 18 to 41 were deemed to be in the Reserve. Bob was posted into the Army, and went off to do his basic training on Salisbury Plain, whistling cheerfully. Edie and Betty both tried not to cry, and Jem's pride in his son was obvious.

He came home on embarkation leave two months later, still cheerful. He was learning to strip a lorry down and rebuild it, adding to the basic knowledge he'd acquired over the previous year. But now he was going to do it in France. “I wish I could stay here until the nipper gets here,” he said to Edie, in a quiet moment. “But you'll be allowed to telegraph when it comes, and I've seen to it Dad has money put aside for a cable. You'll be all right, won't you?”

“Yes, I'll be all right,” said Edie, although as her time grew nearer, she was increasingly nervous. She knew very little about childbirth, as she'd always been sent to neighbours when her mother was having another baby, but what she did know was that women died having babies.

“Nonsense,” said Betty Herbert, cheerfully. “There's no reason at all why you should die. You're young and healthy, and if we are very careful, there's no reason for you to get an infection or anything. You wait and see, all will be well.”

And, indeed, when it came to it, all was well. William John Herbert, to be known as Billy, came into the world on a cold winter's day in early 1917, all 7lbs 4 oz of him, screaming lustily. Edie was unwell for a few days, but nothing for anybody to be worried about. Soon, she was up and about, helping as much as she could about the house and learning to care for Billy.

The year wore on, and the war ground on. Every time Edie saw the telegraph boy with his red bicycle, she would hold her breath until he had cycled past their cottage. She realised that Betty did the same thing. And then, one day, the telegraph boy stopped outside their cottage.

“Badly wounded.” It could have been worse, he could have been killed as so many before him had been. It was awhile before they could find out more details, but the Squire, old Mr Merrick, was very helpful and eventually they were told that his lorry, full of soldiers, had driven over a shell that had failed to explode when it was launched, but buried itself in the soft mud of the road. The weight of the lorry caused it to explode. Many of the men in the back had been killed, but Bob, and one or two others, had escaped with greater or lesser injuries.

Eventually, Bob was shipped back to hospital in England, and Edie was able to go and see him. She found him very depressed. His wounds would heal, and he would eventually be strong again – but he would no longer be a man.

“I can't be any sort of husband to you, Edie,” he said, sadly. “I don't know what we can do.”

“I do,” said Edie, firmly. “We can make the best of it, that's what we can do. I don't say it will be easy – of course it won't be, but we'll just have to manage. And with only one child, we'll be able to give him more than we had when we were kids.”

“That's true,” said Bob, but he continued to fret, and things might have gone badly for him but the next week, Edie made the journey again and this time took six-month-old Billy with her. And Billy stole his father's heart and gave him a reason to live.

“What are you going to do when you're better?” asked Edie. “They won't make you go back and fight again, will they?”

“I hope not,” said Bob. “I think I'll get a medical discharge – hope so, anyway. As for what to do, I don't know. I suppose I'll go back to driving soldiers from hospital to convalescent home. Wish someone would come and drive me!”

Bob was discharged on medical grounds in September 1917, and was able to get his old driving job back. He and Edie decided that even if they had to pay most of his wages in rent, they would find a place of their own to live; because so many people had gone to fight, there were several cottages available, and they were able to rent one very reasonably. From a friend on the estate, Bob acquired a lurcher puppy which he called Blackie, slightly to Edie's dismay, and they settled down to learn to live as a family.

This was not easily, especially for Edie. They bickered frequently, usually a difference of opinion on the proper place for dogs – not in the house, said Edie, firmly – or the disciplining of Billy, but gradually they settled down and the bickering became more amicable and less fraught. They were far from rich, but they had a garden so they could grow their own vegetables, and Edie remembered her mother's flour dumplings, which did indeed take the edge off their appetites before the main course.

In November 1918, the war finally came to an end. There was rejoicing, of course, but so many people had lost so much that it was muted. And people carried on dying, although from influenza rather than bullets. Bob and Edie remained well, but one of Bob's younger brothers died, and his parents were both very ill indeed for some weeks. They pulled through, but Edie had to take hold and help run the household for a while before Betty was fit enough to take over again.

But she did recover, and by the end of 1919 Bob had a new, and better-paid job, driving a bus for the local company. He mostly drove the routes that ran between Streweminster, Colebridge and Wade Abbas via the various villages, and loved his work. “So much nicer taking the kids to school, the men to work and the women to the shops or wherever,” he said.

These years were probably the happiest in Edie's life. Bob was happy in his work; Billy was healthy and happy. At five, he started at the village school, making lots of friends and working well. Bob, fascinated by all things mechanical, built a crystal radio which gave all of them immense pleasure. To the point where Bob grew more ambitious and built a “proper” wireless set, with an inbuilt speaker, so that the family could all “listen in” as it was called. This was a great source of pleasure to all of them, except on the all-too-frequent occasions when the battery gave out because nobody had thought to take it down to the garage to be recharged.

There were no huge joys, and no huge sadnesses, either. Life went on in an atmosphere of contentment. Billy passed his scholarship exam, and was allowed to take up his place at Colebridge Grammar. Edie and Bob agreed that if at all possible, he should take his education as far as he was able; they could manage with their current income, if they were careful. Blackie grew old, as dogs do, and it was a sad day for them all when he was no longer there. Sadly, they decided that they could not really give a dog the sort of exercise and work they should, so in 1933, Puss-cat joined the family.

Billy had continued to work hard at school, and set his sights on being one of the few to head for university. The Board of Education would pay his fees and give him a maintenance grant if he would do an extra year's teacher training after his degree, and if he agreed to teach for a number of years afterwards. If he applied to Streweminster, he could live at home and travel daily by bus or train. Edie and Bob agreed, and in October 1935 they proudly waved him off on his first day.

And then in November of that year, tragedy struck. Bob was driving the 10:30 bus from Colebridge to Port Wade when a lorry lost control on a hill and burst out of a side road, hitting the bus and killing Bob, his conductor, and several of the passengers.

Edie and Billy were devastated. Quite apart from their grief for a much-loved husband and father – and they had loved him, enormously – there was now the question of ways and means. Billy instantly offered to give up his university course, but Edie was very reluctant to allow him to do that: “Your Dad and I didn't have any education worth speaking of; we both wanted it for you, and I don't want you to give it up unless you must. Finish your term, anyway, and we'll see what turns up.”

What Edie didn't say was that she was not at all sure Billy would find a job. The country was still in recession, and unskilled jobs were few and far between. Far better, if possible, for him to finish his training as there were always jobs for teachers. She could go back to work, perhaps; people always wanted cooks and housekeepers. Meanwhile there was a tiny pension from the bus company, she could afford to take her time and look round.

The local “Big House” was Meriot Chase, owned by the Merrick family. Edie had one or two friends who were in service there, and had been up there to help out at the big party the family held each year on Twelfth Night. She didn't reckon she'd want to work there, even if there had been a vacancy – too much like the Castle where her sister Sarah was still working, now as head cook. Maybe she would find another Jane Simon to look after. Jane herself, who had stayed in touch with Edie over the years, was training her sixth or seventh girl from the orphanage, and was not in a position to take her back, even had there been room for both her and Billy.

Before she could collect her thoughts enough to head into Colebridge and find an employment agency, she had an unexpected visitor. Trennels was another big local estate, owned by the Marlow family and, in fact, the estate owned Edie's cottage. At the moment, the squire was Mr Lawrence Marlow, a widower with one young son, Jonathan. And it was Mr Marlow who came to call.

“I was so sorry to hear of your loss,” he said. “I always liked to be driven by your Bob, and Jonathan rather hero-worshipped your Billy when they were both at the Grammar School.”

But it was not just a social call. “Mrs Tranter tells me that you trained as a cook-general before you were married.” (Mr and Mrs Tranter lived in Trennels Farm House and did the actual hands-on farming). “I don't know if you know, but our cook-general, Pearl Tennant, was one of those killed in the same accident, and Jon and I are trying to look after ourselves, with singular lack of success. We do have someone who comes in three days a week to do the main cleaning, but that doesn't help with the cooking. Would you, could you, possibly consider coming to us as a cook-general?”

It was quickly settled. Edie would stay in her cottage, as it was more convenient for Billy, but go daily to Trennels six days each week. She would leave prepared food for Sunday for them, but have that day completely free.

Most of the year, it was a sinecure. However, in the summer holidays Mr Marlow's nephew, who would have been Mr Geoffrey if he hadn't been, first Lieutenant and later Commander Marlow RN, came to stay for three weeks with his wife and family of eight children, including newborn twins. This was really hard work, and Edie was thankful when they left.

Billy graduated in 1938, and finished his teacher training in 1939, just as the country went to war again. Edie was terrified that he would have to join the armed forces, but was reassured when he explained he would have to do at least his first year of teaching before he would be released. “If it goes on, I reckon I'll have to be involved, but it won't be yet, so let's cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said. He had taken a post in a school in Streweminster, and continued to live with his mother and commute daily.

At first, little changed. The “Phoney war”, as it was called, dragged on with nothing much seeming to happen. But then, suddenly in May 1940, it all exploded. The German armies overran the Netherlands, Belgium and France, and the British army appeared lost. The evacuation from Dunkerque, although signalling a defeat, seemed almost like a victory. “The Battle of France,” said the new Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, “is over. The Battle of Britain is about to begin.”

And begin it did. Port Wade was attacked, and aerial battles became a common sight over the countryside. The Royal Air Force opened a new airfield at Rushton, not far away. The Geoffrey Marlows came down in the summer of 1940, as usual, and there was talk of leaving the children there rather than taking them back to London, but before any decision could be made, the house was requisitioned by the War Ministry and the Marlows given ten days to get out. The Geoffrey Marlows went straight back to London, accompanied by Billy, who had been offered a job he was unwilling to talk about: “But I'm not going to be fighting, Ma, I promise you. No need to worry, and I'll write when I can.”

At first, the Marlows, father and son, took refuge in Edie's cottage, but this rapidly proved too small. Fortuitously, the cottage next door fell vacant, and the Marlows moved in there. Edie found this very convenient, although she could only give the Marlows part of her time, since she had joined the WVS, and found herself very busy helping out where she was needed. “I'm teaching people how to get the most of their rations,” she said. “Imagine, me, a teacher!”

But she was good at it, and enjoyed it. There was a lot to do, and she tried to keep the vegetable gardens of both cottages going to supplement the rations. Mr Marlow helped, but his hands-on experience had been strictly limited.

The war dragged on. Billy very occasionally came home on leave, but did not speak about the work he was doing, or even say where he was based. Jonathan grew up, left school, and joined the RAF. Everyone got older and more tired, and longed for the end.

In 1944, Billy came home with a young woman in tow, whom he introduced as Saffron. “We're married!” he explained, apologising for not letting anybody know earlier. Edie tried to welcome Saffron as Bob's parents had welcomed her all those years earlier, but felt certain, all the time, that she was laughing at her. She was obviously from a rather better-off background, but seemed genuinely fond of Billy, who she called Bill. They could only have a flying visit, as they only had a weekend leave, and Edie felt somewhat disturbed when they left.

Finally in May 1945, the war in Europe was over. And Mr Marlow had a massive heart attack, which he did not survive. Jonathan was demobbed almost at once, and came home to take hold on the estate, although the Ministry of War showed no signs of relinquishing Trennels. There were death duties to be paid, of course, and many of the outlying cottages had to be sold off. Jonathan offered Edie the chance to buy her cottage, and helped her get the financing to do so.

Before the war, Mr Marlow had kept hawks in the mews at Trennels, and Jon, who had always liked them, had become even more fascinated when he saw them at work on the various airfields to which he had been posted. Keeping them at Trennels was obviously out of the question, but he struck up a friendship with young Patrick Merrick, and together they kept three birds in the mews at Meriot Chase. Jon's remorse and regret when Patrick fell off a cliff trying to reach a hawk's nest knew no bounds, especially when it was thought that he might not live, and if he did, he might not walk again.

“Now, Mr Jonathan,” said Edie, firmly, “You're not helping Master Patrick by fretting like this. Much better you go and look after those nasty great birds for him, and make sure they stay fit and well. He'll like that, and much better than you fretting about.”

Jon had to admit the rightness of this, and did keep the hawks going, encouraging Patrick, as his strength gradually returned, to become more involved in their care, and to learn how to fly them. There was a major contretemps when The Ripper stole Puss-Cat, who had been having a snooze on the front path, but later Jon had to shoot him as he started to steal chickens. He found a kitten for Mrs Bertie, and Fluff took her own place in her heart.

Suddenly, in the spring of 1948, Trennels became available again, and Jon moved back there. Amazingly, the house had not suffered much structural damage from the Commandos who had trained there, but it had been sadly neglected and it needed a lot of work. But it was not to be Jon who would do it, for he was killed when the experimental plane he was piloting crashed into the hillside.

After much negotiation, it was agreed that Rowan, the second eldest of the Marlow girls, would leave school and run the farm, and she and her mother would live at Trennels, with the others joining them during school holidays, and Captain, as he now was, Marlow and the eldest son, Lieutenant Giles Marlow, joining them in the holidays.

“And so, would you like to stay on and cook for us?” asked Mrs Marlow. Edie hesitated. Did Mrs Marlow really want her? Wasn't there some grand London cook to be imported?

“Oh, please do,” said Mrs Marlow. “You know the house, the children all like you, and we all love your cooking!”

Edie smiled. “Well, I might just be able to see my way clear to it,” she said. “But I won't be able to manage on my own, not in the holidays. Seven of you is simply too many!”

“No, I appreciate that,” said Mrs Marlow, “And I wouldn't expect you to. Didn't you have someone to help when you were here before?”

“Yes, Annie Gates; she wouldn't come now, though; she's too lame with her rheumatics. But her girl Doris might; she's not doing anything now, and she's that gormless, no ambition at all. Willing, now, very willing, but no ambition.”

And so it was settled. And a new era began.


End file.
